In the Forests of the Night
by hist24jpcs
Summary: "It's here."She sat there rigid in her bed and she whispered the arrival of a monster. She just wishes there was someone to hear her warning." Laura can see the creature killing people, hunting. And she knows that a dark man in a black Impala can stop it.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, this story takes place in season two, not long after Dean's fixed the Impala and things are getting somewhat back to normal again. Or at least what the Winchester would call normal.**

**I own nothing but Laura, some plot ideas, and maybe the town. I don't think the town Woodley is real, so any coincidence is accidental. As far as I know, I made it up.**

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><p>It is dark. Pitch-black. The sort of darkness only found in solitary, untouched land. But these woods are far too close to home, and the blackness isn't slowing the creature down any. It is tearing through the dense woods, the only sounds feral breathing and the snap of twigs beneath its paws. The sound of the man, the farmer scrambling in terror through the woods has faded almost to nothing. He is far enough away to think he is safe, to think he has escaped. But she knows by now that this is just a part of the hunt, the game. Just a tactic to disarm its prey. Because over the musky scent of wet soil and layers of leaves, there is the overriding, rusty tang of blood. Suddenly, it's movements become faster, jolting. It's getting close. She can hear the man's erratic breathing, the thrash of his careless footfalls. And then it's lunging. She feels the soft skin tearing, the slight resistance as the cords of muscle are sliced, and then the sickening snap of bone. And there is blood. Blood everywhere. It soaks the soil and pours from the man's body, trickling from his lips and the jaws of the animal. It is all she can smell. And he is screaming in terror and agony, screaming until he is soundless and a blood stained claw rakes across his face. For a moment it is quiet, just the creature's harsh panting and the gurgle of the man trying to breathe through the blood in his lungs. Then it lunges and she feels its teeth sink easily, so easily into his throat.<p>

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><p>Ten miles away, a girl jolts awake gasping, sweaty, and wide-eyed with fear.<p>

"It's here."

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><p>Laura is walking down Woodley's Main Street trying to look okay and sane, happy even. But that is just too much of a stretch; she can't even muster up a grin. It has been a four days since her last dream and she is trying to convince herself that it, whatever it was, is over. That she is not insane, or psychic, or some kind of crazy sociopath. She really doesn't want to be a sociopath. She is Laura Harkness. She is perfectly normal and perfectly happy. She is fine. But Laura can't forget how real this dream felt, how close. Before she would just get flashes, feel the cold or damp, see glimpses of torn flesh, blood, and blue jeans. Not this time. She can still smell his blood, his fear. And that terrifies her. But what's worse, she can't shake the feeling that she knew those woods, that she knew that man. She even thinks he had a farm on the outside of town, but she hopes to God she's wrong. Because if this is real, if this isn't just the product of memories, warped imagination, and too much Discovery Channel, then this monster is close. It's a killer and it's too damn close. And if first reactions are the truest, most unguarded, then Laura knows what she really believes. No matter how insane it may seem. All she could think, all she could say after that last dream was "It's here." She sat there rigid in her bed, curled into herself and clutching the covers, and she whispered the arrival of a monster. She just wishes there was someone to hear her warning.<p>

But that's insane. Laura is almost 95 percent sure she's going insane, because prophesying the arrival of some killer beast she's seen in her dreams is just crazy. There's no giant animal running around ripping people apart. They almost never have bear here, and Laura doubts that anything else could do what she's seen. She's not even sure a bear could. And if there's that niggling feeling in the back of her mind that she's seen this before, Laura ignores it. She's just morbidly delusional. A schizophrenic maybe. If this had just been creepy dreams and nothing more, maybe she could have just chalked it up to an over active and disgusting imagination.

_Blood, so much blood. _

But Laura's about ready to go running into the woods looking for this thing, or to make posters and put out an APB. Because of some dreams. That's how she knows she's probably crazy. Having weird dreams is one thing, but frantically believing in them is another. Laura's pretty sure she could get into the funny farm on the ripping and tearing of flesh thing alone, so she really has to put this behind her.

In the mid-morning light, she seems swallowed by her fraying sweatshirt. Her shoulders are slightly hunched, her long brown hair unruly, and her expression is stuck somewhere between dismay, queasiness, and contrived calm. Laura's still walking along, not even really sure of how far she's gone when she sees the newspaper box. The look of queasiness finally asserts its dominance. She looks as if her most important need right now is a bucket and some mouthwash. No one would mistake her for calm, for fine, but she could at least pass this off as food poisoning or something. A face full of psychological terror is a bit harder to explain. For the last three days she has fearfully checked the paper and found nothing about a missing man or animal attack, but she has a bad feeling about it today. She just wants to focus on normal things like her thesis and sketching or her job or even her new-found insanity, but some part of her feels compelled to check. She has to know if her dream really happened, if there's a mauled famer from her hometown. God, she's afraid to look this time. She doesn't want to be crazy, but she'd rather be crazy than be right about this. Either way, it's more than she can handle now. With an extra inch of slump to her shoulders, Laura bypasses the box.

"This is the truth," she says, a desperate edge to her voice. "My delusions aren't real. There is no giant killer animal. I am merely going insane. I am insane, and this is just my own gory mental game of _Life_." She groans. "Oh, God, and I'm a coward."

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><p>Laura has herself fully convinced she's lost her marbles by the time she's walking up her driveway two hours later. Besides the dreams and other obvious indicators, while taking her troubled morning stroll, she had been ridiculously jumpy and more than a little paranoid about the killer beast. Anytime Laura saw a dog bigger than a Chihuahua she'd been tempted to take it out back and pull an Old Yeller. That is so far from acceptable, sane behavior. She loves dogs and has never once had the desire to shoot anything living- especially not a neighborhood pet, so this is just not normal.<p>

At one point she even thought she saw forrest in the place of the hair salon and the coffee shop. "So great. Crazy dreams, paranoia, and halucinations," she mutters. "I'd better start looking for a nice loony bin. Somewhere warm. With a pool."

But roiling rebelliously in the back of her mind is the thought that the dreams seemed too real, too frightening, and too familiar. And that somewhere in her collection of unmentionable memories, the truth is hiding. But she is not about to open that cage and let those particular monsters out.

Right as she crosses the threshold she sees the paper there waiting for her on her Welcome mat. This is inevitable. This is fate. She can't ignore the signs; she should have never avoided it in the first place. Whether she's insane or having gruesome prophetic dreams, the outcome is dangerous. She can't hide from it. That was weak, and Harkness' are not weak- no matter their level of sanity. Laura pulls the paper out of its deceptively sunny wrapper, quickly unrolling the colorless pages. And there it is, on the front page. **Ted Willamet, 51, found dead in woods. Victim of vicious bear attack.**

Laura leans back against the wall, just trying not to faint or throw up or cry hysterically, or do some hideous combination of the three. If she had suspected it before, she was sure now. She knew that face, and the last time she had seen it the wide mouth was frozen in a terrified "O" as blood trickled from its corners. The picture in the paper shows a big blonde man with weathered skin and an easygoing smile. And despite all the times she tried to lock up any memories involving "it", she still remembers him.

He had been a giant to a six year old Laura, and at first she had been afraid of him. He was a giant and her dad had left her all alone without Jack or a beanstalk to save her. But then he told her knock-knock jokes and let her feed his baby goats until her dad came back from the pasture, mouth set in a grim smile. Her dad, Jeffery Harkness, was the town veterinarian. Whenever an animal was sick or hurt, he was the one to call. But this visit, he was at the Willamet farm because of the dead horses. They were pretty much eviscerated by a wild animal, maybe a bear or a wild cat. Her dad had been sort of investigating the situation for two weeks, sometimes taking her with him. There had been reports of dead cattle and horses all around the outskirts of town, but nobody had caught sight of the animal that was responsible. And just that morning her dad had taken her out to the woods by their house and told her to listen. It was too quiet, he had said. And when the woods were quiet, something was wrong. But nobody had been too worried about it yet, just went out and reinforced their fences. Chalked it up to a rabid animal and the random phenomena of nature. A week later the first two bodies were found.

Then it started going after the kids.

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><p>She is slumped against the wall, her breathing coming faster and faster. The smiling face of Ted Willamet, has opened the door and now all the suppressed memories are trying to slip through. Her mental monsters are escaping their cage. Dark flashes of woods, the faces of missing playmates, her father's frantic, echoing voice, her own screams. As the burst of memories abates, her hand strays unconsciously to her right shoulder, and she clutches it almost protectively as she tries to calm her breathing and her mind. There is a reason she tried so hard to forget it all. But as much as she hates thinking about anything remotely connected to what happened eighteen years ago, she's going to have to. According to her dreams three men had already been killed, and the article in the paper had mentioned that there had been cattle deaths on Ted's farm. That it's possible the same thing that got his cows got him, too. If this was all true, if her dreams were real and the signs were that same as 18 years ago, then she was going to have to remember everything she could. Every little detail would count if this was happening again. It would only be a matter of time before kids started disappearing again, and she would do whatever she could to keep that particular bit of history from repeating itself.<p>

Her mind is a mess of worry, despair, and haunting images. God, she wishes her father were here. Her knees finally give out, and Laura slides down to the floor, head in her hands.

"God help us all... It's here," she whispers, echoing her words from four days ago with grim surety in the place of her previous terror. And just like that night, she wishes that someone was there to hear her warning.

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><p>400 miles away in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, two brothers are eating a greasy lunch and looking for warnings of their own. Dean Winechester is sitting in the diner booth shoving down a burger with so much bacon piled on it's practically a pork sandwich. Across the table his brother, Sam, is scanning the newspaper over his empty plate, hunting for their next job. They had put down the rather vicious poltergeist of a dead miner over a week ago, and even Sam was getting bored. This lull between jobs was longer than usual. They needed to get out of this town, find some more evil to kill. Maybe that would take their minds off their Dad's death; sometimes the slow periods just left them too much time to think about it. Things were better. Dean was talking about him again. He was less angry, less of a loose cannon. But Sam knows how guilty he still feels. So maybe they were getting better, moving on, but every job took the edge off a little more. It's what their Dad would have wanted.<p>

"Alright, Sammy, what do we got?"

There wasn't much, but he was pretty sure they'd both take almost anything by now. Dean hated this town, said there were too many Wal-Mart's and not enough decent pie. "Well, this might be something. There's been this string of deaths in Maryland, and it seems like they're all related to this one car. Like new brakes are failing and a mechanic died—

With a disgusted look on his face, Dean cuts in, "Oh no. No. We are not gonna go out there and do some kind of warped reenactment of _Christine_. I'm not gonna expose my Baby to that kind of behavior. I barely got her purring again; I'm not bringing her around something like that."

"Oookay. Whatever man, but you're relationship with that car's starting to get a little too obsessive." Ignoring the lovely hand gesture Dean flashed him, Sam found the other possible he'd marked. "Uh, there's been all these deaths from bear attacks in this town in Illinois. Like four guys and some farm animals."

"Smokey the Bear's pissed off, so what?"

"So, the tracks are huge, and nobody's reported seeing a bear in months—I mean they haven't even caught sight of the thing yet."

"C'mon man, I really don't know if this is our kind of thing. Call the game police if you're such a concerned citizen."

Why was he making this difficult? Sam sighed. "Dean, bears don't just randomly attack people. This last guy, he was a farmer. Not a hunter, not even a camper. And they say he was really torn up, totally slashed from shoulder to calf. Broken bones, everything. I think we should check it out."

Dean grumbled a little before shooting him a glare. "Alright fine. I guess anything's better than taking down a demented _Herbie_. Sounds like we're going to Woodley, Illinois."

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><p><strong>Alright. That's the first chapter. Are ya hooked? Hopefully it wasn't too bad. I've never actually done anything more than a one shot, so trying the whole multiple installments type thing should be interesting. I have the story pretty much laid out, so lets just hope I can actually write it. Please let me know what you think, and tell me if there are any errors. <strong>

**Review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so here's chapter two. Slightly longer but maybe not as good. I only really like 1/3 of it, so let's hope it's better than I think. I forgot to mention last time that I borrowed the title from the Blake poem The Tyger.**

**I still own nothing.**

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><p>The night before, Laura had been afraid to go to sleep, afraid to relive memories of fear and panic and endless woods. Or even worse, to be the silent, horrified witness of yet another excruciating death. There were no blood soaked images or haunting nightmares to send her trembling into wakefulness, just fitful but peacefully blank sleep. The animal had not taken another victim. When Laura woke up with light streaming through her windows and no new horrors to face, she had been relieved and refreshed. Both feelings lasted about thirty glorious seconds. Then she remembered that more people were going to die, probably even her friends and neighbors, and she was going to have to watch. Unless she can find some way to stop it. But she has no idea where to start or what to do. And help, Laura really, really needs some help. It makes her miss the simplicity of yesterday morning when help meant a psychiatrist, not a team of big game hunters with an arsenal and a dog whisperer. Unfortunately, she is none of those things. She hates the idea of sounding like a damsel waiting for some hero, but this is more than she can handle alone. Laura NEEDS help. She just doesn't know where to get it. Instead she goes to get some breakfast. At least her cereal is reliably easy to find.<p>

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><p>Two hours later her kitchen table is covered with scanned pages, books, and the odd map or two. Laura is sitting in one of her mother's old high backed oak chairs that for some reason she's never understood, were bought to go with their cherry wood table. She is hunched over the clutter of pages, the fruits of her morning trip to the library. Scattered across the worn wooden surface, there are scans of newspaper articles and obituaries, wildlife logs, and county maps. And Laura even managed to get the 1988 Sheriff's reports. She feels guilty that she sort of played up her past in order to get them, but she knows that without it, she'd never have the reports. Because almost everyone knows what happened to her. So when she came up to Ilene at the reference desk looking rumpled, solemn, and a little lost and asked about the police reports for that year, the old woman had smiled understandingly and told her where to go. Laura was afraid to really look at any of it while she was at the library. Now that the mental wall has crumbled, now that her caged monsters are free, it's hard enough to keep the memories at bay. There was no telling what sort of emotional wormholes this information would open up. There are so many things she wishes she could purge from her mind, but right now she needs every one of them. This is just too important.<p>

She knows that getting help, is for the moment, a dead end. The sheriff that worked the 1988 attacks is gone, everyone else thinks it was just some wild animal, and this time nobody's even seen it yet. At this point they haven't even connected the two sets of attacks, and she's not sure they ever will. No one's going to believe her if she goes around proclaiming that the same giant animal has returned to murder their children. Especially if all she really has to go on are some disturbing dreams. God, this sucks. Laura sighs and looks at her notes. She is feeling a little better now that she's starting to get some real information about the attacks eighteen years ago. With the help of research, she is starting to understand. Laura figures she has about a week, if her pieced-together timeline of the last attacks is right, before the creature starts going after the children. If that is even what it's doing. It is an animal, a smart, extremely violent, animal, but still an animal. How can she be sure it would follow patterns from almost two decades ago? That it is even the same animal? But she knows, in her gut, that it is the same monster from before, no matter how improbable that may seem. Every instinct she has tells her that the creature that haunted her childhood nightmares and memories is the same thing that leaves her shaking, dreams painted with blood. And she almost certain that it still wants the kids. As much as she hates the idea, Laura's pretty sure she's been in its head, to some extent at least. She knows a little of how it hunts a man down, how it disables him swiftly, how it uses the forest and the darkness. This monster is smart, ruthless and more than just some mindless beast. It stalks and hunts and terrifies too effectively to be some rabid, careless animal. It's certainly no bear. Before she can stop it, will the memory away, she sees Ted Willamet's face.

His features dismantled by the swipe of a claw, his mouth stuck in a bloody, terrified scream. That night she could hear his rapid breathing, his erratic, faltering heart, and she could smell his blood. She has looked through the eyes of a killer and watched a man die. Somehow, in her dreams she sees from its perspective, and those moments have told her all she needs to know. If it wants to kill their children, it will. Laura is grimly certain that she could put the entire Sheriff's department, the Neighborhood Watch, a father with a .45, and every locked door in the house in this monster's path and it could still slaughter a child. This beast is somehow mythic, and she's afraid she'll need something or someone mythic to kill it. She needs Allan Quartemain or Van Helsing. She need's Perseus and the sword of Athena. And she's afraid, so afraid that the only myth and magic she'll get is that of Cassandra, all her dark, desperate prophesies falling on deaf and ignorant ears.

No. Laura shakes her head almost violently, focuses her eyes back on the piles that cover her table. Cassandra just warned. She will act. She will learn this animal, learn its patterns, and vulnerabilities. And then she will kill it. Somehow. She looks back at the wandering cross-hatch of lines all along the map. Using the wildlife logs and newspaper articles, she has tried to mark its deadly path. She wonders if years ago, her dad sat at this table and tried to do the very same thing. Laura closes her eyes and she can almost see it. His steady, tanned hand making lines and concise annotations. Her map is much messier than the imagined one her dad is making. Dates, names, and random annotations run in slanting lines along the page, but the dates are numbered to coincide with locations she's marked and any notes she's made are placed well enough to give it some order.

For every report that seems to fit the description of how the beast leaves it's victims, she circles the approximate location. The 1988 attacks are circled in blue, the current ones with red. So far there are seven circles on the map, four blue and three red. Three of its victims were in the neighboring towns, almost like it worked its way here. Killed a few people from other towns just to be fair and share the tragedy, or maybe it just wanted a little practice before it went out on the real hunt. Either way, except for the few in Mineska thirty miles over, all of the victims are from Woodley. The first few are more on the outskirts of town, and then it works its way in. Because that's where most of the kids are. Although Laura knows she's being a cowardly avoider again, she hasn't gotten to the kids yet. Instead she goes back to looking at her map. There was a distance of 4.6 miles between…

It is in the woods and darkness is falling. She can hear the rustling of leaves and the murmur of small whispered voices. It's head swings left and in the half dark she can see two little boys, brothers. The smaller one's heart beat is fast, his eyes wide. He's afraid. The animal slides closer, but the boys don't notice. The little one is saying something about mommy and bad and 'I don't like it here'. Mostly she can just hear his heartbeat, his stuttering breath. The animal takes a step and a twig snaps. The boy jumps, eyes wide, head swinging back and forth. His heartbeat is rising. She can smell the fear mixed in with his sweat. He tries to pull his brother back toward their backyard. Their yellow plastic slide is still visible in strips through the trees. The animal crouches, takes one step, two—but then the boy's mom calls for him and he runs toward the house.

Suddenly, the vision shifts, goes hazy. For a moment she can see her kitchen cabinets.

It is a deep, cold dark and the trees are thick except for the small area of clearing the beast is in. A light flashes dimly by, the white road lines shining through a gap in the trees. She can smell blood and urine in a sickening mix. The animal is panting fast, and its claws have dried blood on them. Its vision shifts and she can see blond, blood matted hair and a small dirt smudged hand. The animal's head snaps towards the road, towards the distinctive burble of an old engine and the grinding of gravel as the car slams to a stop. The animal looks back and she can see a bloodied, white Strawberry Shortcake sneaker beside the child's mangled leg. The bone is a stark white surrounded by the crimson flesh. There is crashing and rustling, the driver of the car is moving fast toward the clearing. The animal bolts, heading for the dark man as the metal of his gun flashes dully in the headlights. The man shoots as the animal passes, tearing across the road, past the man's shining black car, and into the woods. The sharp crack of another shot is swallowed into darkness.

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><p>Laura is gripping the table, her knuckles white as her breathing comes out in short, harsh pants. She moans and clutches her head.<p>

"Oh God, oh God." It is a chant, more of a curse than a prayer, as she tries to make sense of what just happened. The frightened little boy. The dirty, bloody fingers. A little girl's hair. Gun shots. This was not a dream. Not a vicious attack. Laura is shaking. That poor little boy. She recognizes him and his brother vaguely; she's passed them on the street, maybe taken their school picture. And that thing was stalking him. Her mind is racing, spiraling into panic. What if it got him? What if it comes back tomorrow and takes him. Leaves him somewhere, cold and mangled while his mother searches for him. He was already so afraid, he wanted to leave. But he got away. The animal didn't follow him toward the house. Oh God. The little girl, her body still not cold, blood streaking her light hair. Has it already taken two kids? Is a little girl already dead, her small sneakers smeared with her blood? And then she remembers. Those shoes, Strawberry Shortcake shoes. She can see Caroline Kalmetta double-dutching, her pink and white shoes flashing red lights with every jump. When she was six she had wanted those shoes so badly. Caroline died wearing them. Somehow, the second vision is a memory, the animal's memory. She could never have known or seen those things any other way. It killed Caroline and then a man came after it. The animal was afraid of this guy. It bolted and didn't even put up a fight—like a two-bit crook when Dirty Harry shows up. Something tells her it doesn't usually do that. In the dream she'd had the week before Ted died, the creature had killed a man who'd turned a riffle on it. It hadn't been scared then. This man with the dark features and the beautiful, roaring, black car was special, was feared by a monster. She needs him. She has to find him. Laura doesn't know how she'll do it, but she has to. He's the help she's been hoping for, her mythic slayer of beasts.

But she can try to find him later. Right now there's a frightened little boy being stalked by that monster. Laura's sure this is the first child the beast will be hunting. And based on the waning light of the room, the vision was happening as she saw it. Maybe it didn't take him today, but it could happen soon. Laura jumps up, her chair clattering against the hardwood floor. She has to save him. She can't let him die, see his bones and torn flesh like Caroline's. But she can't remember his face clearly, doesn't know who he is. She tries to remember the vision. He had light brown hair, and a red and orange striped shirt. There was a yellow slide in his backyard and she thinks the house was a faded blue. By some miracle, he's safe in the warmth of his house for tonight. Tomorrow she'll go look for him.

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><p>Dean is tired, seriously tired. They'd been hauling ass for almost two days trying to get here. With his usual driving style it would have taken probably six and a half hours tops, maybe a little more depending on how many stops they took. Basically they would have made damn good time—he still can't believe Sammy called it reckless. He'd never be reckless with his Baby. It's more like he knows how to handle her, and Sam always stopped his bitching when Dean's "recklessness" turned an eight hour drive into a six hour one. Anyway, they'd been going pretty much non-stop for two days, taking a day long detour in Missouri for a standard salt-and-burn, and then hitting the road again. Sam has some weird sense of urgency about this one. And somewhere in the back of his mind, there's a tingle of recognition telling him maybe Sam is right. Now that they've finally pulled up to Main Street in Woodley, Dean's sitting in the car, eyes closed, waiting for Sam to come back with the addresses of the last two victims. The door slams and Sam slides into the passenger seat. "Okay, so we've got Ted Willamet on 257 Walnut Hill and this guy Sean Josens on 643 Avery Street. Which one do you wanna hit first?"<p>

Dean looks at the papers he's holding and says "Let's take the newspaper stiff first, then we'll do the less recent guy." Sam starts raddling off info about the guy and how to get to his house, his eyes probably all aglow with information mania. Kid really loves his facts. Dean is looking out the window, towards the sidewalk across the street, only half listening. He knows all he needs, the necessary information. Woodley seems like a nice town, maybe a little too quiet and Mayberry for his taste, but still nice. Almost everybody greets each other on the street, smiling, petting a passerby's dog. Nobody seems too affected by what's happening. If there's something more sinister about these deaths than a Care Bear gone dark side, these people don't seem to know it. He looks over at Sam, nods at what seems like the appropriate time and then turns his eyes back to the street. And sees something interesting. His eyes follow her, examining her face and tracing her path down the street. And yeah she's pretty, and her jeans fit just right, but that's not what really interests him. It's her expression. She's the only one not walking around like a character from Pleasantville. She looks lost and bone-weary, like whatever weight she's carrying is slipping on her shoulders and she doesn't know what to do. It's a look of loss and responsibility. He sees it sometimes reflected in the mirror, but that's not a subject he wants to touch right now. Maybe she knows something about the deaths. He can look into that later, and yes maybe her tight jeans do have a little to do with it this time, but right now he has a farm to visit. Dean starts the car, smiling as the Impala rumbles to life. He sneaks another look at the girl right as she looks his way and sees something that makes her break out into a grin. What could do that? There's still darkness in her eyes but at least now she's smiling. Yeah, maybe he will have to check up on her later.

She leaves the sidewalk, starts crossing the street. She's heading right towards them and as she gets closer, her smile stretches even farther across her face. Her eyes are still sad, but there's a wild shine to them now, and her long brown curls are bouncing disorderly and full around her face. Now Sammy's looking her way too as they both try and figure out what this girl's doing. Dean's forehead is scrunched in confusion as she takes her last quick steps to the window of the Impala.

Laura is feeling an almost wild joy now. Something is going right, after all the deaths and nightmares and visions. She didn't have to find her mythical slayer, he found her. And thank god, because she had no idea how she was gonna get to him otherwise. She hasn't even found the little boy yet.

"I can't believe this! At first I wasn't sure, but the sound of that engine. It's just like in my vision! I don't think you're the same guy, but this is definitely the car. I just can't believe this. It's a miracle! I need you so much! I've been praying I would find you!"

Wow. Okay. Maybe she's doesn't know anything about the deaths. Maybe she's just crazy, and really, really happy to see him for some reason. He gives her a skeptical smirk. "Wow. Women usually like me, but I've never gotten quite this reaction. Do I know you?"

She shakes her head, still smiling. Even if she is crazy, it's kind of contagious. He can feel the corners of his mouth pulling up, too. She blushes a little. "Oh, I'm sorry, no. It's just I've seen you, well not you really—more like your car in the visions. You're here for the animal aren't you?"

Visions? Seriously? He's about to tell her he's got no idea what she's talking about when Sam buts in.

"The animal? Are you talking about the attacks that have been going on around here? Do you know what it is?"

Dammit, Sammy. That smile of hers shrinks more with each of his brother's questions. He doesn't want to just go around proclaiming why they're here, especially not to some girl who thinks she's psychic, and for some reason he also doesn't want that lost look back on her face. The sadness is fully back in her eyes again, and when she answers her voice is soft and serious. "I've been seeing it in visions and dreams. It's not just some bear and it's been here before, years ago." Her face goes a tiny bit whiter. "I've seen it kill."

"Wait, wait, you've seen it?" That could maybe make someone a little crazy. Maybe she really can help, lead them to where she saw it.

"I haven't seen it this time. Not really. I just see it in my dreams and sometimes I think I see what it does when I'm awake. That's how I recognized your car from 18 years ago."

Or not. Sam looks like he's about to say something, probably some mushy comfort and another pointless question. He'd better head him off. "Look lady, we've got to go. While we appreciate your help, we've got things to do." Maybe he's being a jerk. He's just too tired for this, but then by the look of it, so is she. The woman's still standing there and Sam's opening his big mouth again. Pain in the ass. "Sam where was the first place? Walnut something?" There's a sharp intake of breathe to his left, and Dean looks back at the Sylvia Browne wannabe at his window. Can't she take a hint?

"Walnut Hill? You are after it aren't you? You're going to Ted's farm." Her face drops back into that lost, tired look from earlier. "I could tell you more about his death than anyone there could." With that look on her face Dean almost wants to believe her. Almost. He opens his mouth. "I know, I know. You've got things to do and you don't need my help. I get it. But maybe you'll change your mind. My name's Laura Harkness. Just ask anyone in town and they'll tell you where I live." She smiles this quick, two-second, sad little grin and then she turns and starts walking away. Just as he puts the car in drive and slides it into the street, Laura looks back and says, "I hope I'll see you guys later." Then she's on the sidewalk going back the way she came. Dean guns it towards Walnut Hill.

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><p>Of course Sammy's got something to say about it. He's been shifting in his seat, face tight since they left that Laura girl. "Alright Sam, spit it out. What's got your panties all in a twist?"<p>

"I think we should've listened to Laura. We should've talked to her instead of just blowing her off. She was obviously worried about something, and I bet she's already trying to find a way to stop it. If she knows what's going on, then we should let her help."

"C'mon man, you seriously believe all that psychic stuff she was spewing? 'Oh I saw you in a vision. I dream about the monster'. She's just a little crazy, wants to be on Psychic TV or something."

Uh oh. Madam Zelda over there's getting a little red in the face. Dean has to stifle the urge to laugh at his brother's expression. "Dude. I can't believe you! I have psychic dreams! I have visions and you believe me!"

"Yeah, well that's 'cause you're my brother. And even then I thought you were just under a bit too much stress, if you know what I mean—until I saw some actual proof." He still thinks it's damn crazy, but he keeps that to himself. It's just another weird demon thing to happen to their family. He should expect it by now.

Sam rolls his eyes at Dean. "She did give us proof! She recognized our car, knew we were here to kill the animal. How could she have known that, unless she was really having visions? We don't exactly advertise. Most people can't even imagine what we really do. And the moment you mentioned Walnut Hill, she knew we were going to Ted's too. I think she was telling the truth."

Dean remembers the look on her face, the darkness in her eyes, and how happy she was when she first saw them. He can still see that short, sorrow tinted smile she sent him as she walked away. Like she understood them turning her down. Like it was just one more thing that wasn't going her way. He sighs. "Okay, Sam. We'll look into it a little, and if it rings true, we'll go see her. Happy?" Sam nods smugly and Dean shoots him a glare. "But right now we've got to go talk to Ted Willamet's family."

* * *

><p>The visit to Ted's farm as Rangers Steve Perry and Neal Schon didn't get them much. According to his wife, Ted hadn't done, seen, or said anything strange before his death. The only thing out of the ordinary was the wild animal killing their cattle, something his wife thinks occurred once before roughly twenty years ago. That had given Sam an extra bit of smugness, because that Laura chick mentioned that this had happened 'years before' and more specifically that she recognized the Impala from a vision of 18 years ago. Sam had said his 'I told you so' and now they were at the library researching cattle deaths and animal attacks from 1988. There seemed to be some truth to what she had said in this aspect at least. It was making Dean feel like a bit of an ass. He fought bedtime story evil for a living, what right did he have to be a skeptic anyway? Sam was right.<p>

So now he's scrolling through newspaper articles looking for a pattern or a motive. Something to tell them what's going on. A voice in his head that sounds traitorously like Sam's tells him that Laura probably could tell them. Dean shifts in the hard wooden library chair and pulls up another article, this time with a picture of a blond little girl at the top. And then he sees her name, Caroline Kalmetta, and he remembers. That feeling in the back of his mind that this was somehow familiar definitely wasn't a fluke. His Dad had been to Woodley eighteen years ago, and the case had hit him hard. It was one of the very few that got away. Kids were getting killed and his Dad had been too late, had arrived right at the end of the attack spree. He had been too late to save the last victim, a six year old girl named Caroline.

"There's got to be something in the journal about this," he mutters. Sam looks like he's getting ready to leave. Closing out the various articles he has open. He turns to tell him something and Dean cuts him off, "Laura was right when she said she recognized the Impala from eighteen years ago. Dad was here. He fought this thing, but he didn't get it. Whatever happened, it really wrecked him." Sam just nods and tells him they should try and get the sheriff's records and maybe the ranger's from that year too. This place is right next door to the Sheriff's office and apparently it acts as a library and a police archive. They walk up to the librarian's desk and a sweet looking older woman asks them how she can help. Sam clears his throat and puts on his best polite, college boy face. It would be much easier to get the records from the library than the sheriff's office, so Dean hopes that puppy-dog charm doesn't wear off now.

"Ma'am I was wondering if we could take a look at the Sheriff's office's records from 1988. It's extremely important for a project we're doing, and I'd really appreciate it." He even throws in a shy grin at the end.

The librarian smiles but shakes her head. "I'm sorry boys. I could've let you look at them, but somebody already took out the records for that year."

Sam looks a little confused and deflated. "I thought things like that couldn't be taken out of the library." Oh, Sammy. Of course he'd know library protocol. Sometimes Dean forgets what a geek his brother is.

The librarian sighs and leans towards them "It's not something we usually do, but I loaned them out as sort of a favor. The poor girl certainly deserved a chance to look at them," she whispers, the last part more to herself than the brothers.

Dean's interest is peaked. He exchanges a look with Sam and asks, "Who did you say you loaned the records out to Ma'am?"

"Oh, Laura Harkness. Poor girl." Dean raises his eyebrows. Poor girl? Does everyone in town know about her psychic struggles or something? That was what drove him crazy about these Mayberry type places, everybody knew your personal business. But then again, she'd been pretty forthcoming about it with them, so maybe it wasn't much of a secret. She took out the records, probably doing a little bit of research for herself. Sam was right again, and he was getting smugger about this with every minute. "Can you tell us where she lives? We'd really like to talk to her."

The librarian shuffles some paper and seems to study them for a moment. She smiles and Dean tries to smile back. He likes her. She looks like the kind of grandmother that would make really good pies. "Well, since you seem like such nice boys, I suppose so. She lives over on Oakland drive. Only white house with black shutters on the street."

Well, they had already decided they were going to have pay Laura Harkness a visit. They were just going to be doing it a bit sooner than expected. He wonders if this time she'd be quite as happy to see them.

* * *

><p><strong>I can't beleive I actually followed through and wrote the second chapter. Hopefully it kept you interested. I'll try and put a little more action in the next one, but there are still some important things that need to get talked out. Please let me know what you think. <strong>

**Just to warn you, I think Dean's gonna get the girl in this one. It's just personal preference. I like Sam, but I love Dean. Hopefully that won't bother anyone.**

**Oh, and their Wildlife Ranger alias's are the lead singer and guitarist of Journey in case anyone picked up on that.**


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